


A Lesson in Irritation.

by biblio_witch



Series: The Devil's Backbone (Bellarke) [5]
Category: The 100
Genre: Cutesy, F/M, Fluff, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, The 100 - Freeform, kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:23:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2982023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblio_witch/pseuds/biblio_witch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Clarke won't stop the constant arguing and it's getting on everyone's nerves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson in Irritation.

In the last couple of weeks, Bellamy had become a lot more comfortable around Clarke. She wouldn't have minded, because quite frankly the whole 'I'm big and mean and will kill you with my baby finger,' attitude of his had really started to get on her nerves. But then they had come back from the bunker, and Bellamy had changed. He'd gone from gruff and distant to almost... kind. Or at the very least, protective. And he'd started touching her too, where as before he'd leaned away from her almost constantly, now he walked close and placed his hand on the small of her back, now he was playful with her - shoving and nudging her sometimes and laughing when she stumbled - and now he... he braided her hair, sometimes too. When it got particularly knotty, or when it became dirty to the point that Bellamy considered it embarrassing, then he would plait it for her. Or even sometimes just out of the blue, when she was busy and tired, he'd push her down into a seat and clamp his hands on her shoulders until she'd slumped in defeat, and then he would plait her hair for her. 

Clarke wondered idly as she went through her daily tasks if Bellamy knew how much she liked him braiding her hair. Mostly because his hands were gentle and warm and it wasn't often that she was touched nicely. People didn't touch her, period. The only human contact she had was when she was inspecting injuries, which was of course a lot, but people never returned her touches. She liked being touched, craved the reassurance that she was real and this was real and that she wasn't living some elaborate nightmare. 

Bellamy seemed to be the only one not scared of touching her. Finn didn't touch her anymore of course, Octavia did, occasionally, but had no reason to, really. Everyone else thought of her as their leader, not their comrade. Not their friend. She was distanced from everyone, physically and mentally. 

So she didn't object to Bellamy's new touchy attitude with her, and perhaps she did (kinda) welcome it, but even so. It still irritated her, because she was proud, and he knew this, and he found it amusing that he was denting her pride by his casual handling of her. 

Clarke just hoped it didn't progress to different levels. 

*** 

"Hey Princess, what're you-" 

Bellamy stopped, shocked into stillness in the act of pushing into the dropship. He blinked, surprised at the sight before him. Clarke was stood on a box, reaching high up with one of her hands shoved into a compartment of the wall. She gave a yelp, tried to turn to see him, and toppled right off the box, landing in a heap on the floor, sprawled on her side. 

Bellamy gasped and rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside her to grab her shoulders and roll her onto her back, ordering her not to move, not to strain herself, just in case she'd broken something and made it worse. Clarke's eyelids fluttered, crystal blue eyes twinkling at him, pretty in this shade of light, pretty in  _every_ shade of light- 

Not the time, Blake. He chided himself. But she was staring at him, forehead creased, that little wrinkle between her eyebrows present, just like it always was when she was confused, or annoyed, or even  _looking_ at him. He was amused to know he agrivated her so much, caused her as much trouble as she did him. 

"Get off me, moron." she growled, batting his restraining hands away. She sat up and shook her head, causing the braid resting down her back to swing heavily over her shoulder, resting against her exposed collarbone. Bellamy's eyes followed the movement with rapt attention, he'd done that, he'd put that braid there, even now, he could feel her hair on his fingers, on his skin, soft and smooth and warm from where the sun had rested on it. The colour of sunshine, like he was holding the personification of goodness in his hands. 

He shook himself and stood, pulling her up gently by the waist and setting her carefully on her feet, making sure she was steady before he'd stepped back. He stared down at her, frowning, confused as to why she'd put herself in harms way. 

"What were you doing? You could have hurt yourself." he scorned, glancing at the box she'd shoved against the wall. 

"It was hardly life threatening." she scowled at him, and he smiled cockily back. He knew she hated that smile, grinned wider as her scowl deepened. His expression cleared though when she stepped back up onto the box, and his hand flashed out, almost involuntarily, to grab her arm. This new angle irritated him, because he was level with her chest now, and that was really rather distracting. Also, he could see the smugness in her face as she peered down her cute nose at him. He huffed and pulled at her, but she rocked back, resisting easily.

"No, just life threatening for you, Princess. Walking disaster magnet, you are." he shook his head and pulled again, and she braced a hand against his shoulder to stop herself from falling. Her warm hand seared his skin through his thin shirt, sending electricity right down into his spine and setting his nerves alight. He shuddered, but hid it with a fierce scowl.

"I just need to get the box of bandages, Bell." a thrill went through him at the nickname, the nickname that only people he cared about used. Which meant it was reserved only to Octavia, and nobody else in camp had ever dared to use it.  But she had said it casually, as if she had always called him by that. He wondered if that's how she referred to him in her own mind, and then he wondered how often he _did_ occupy her mind, which he  _needed_ to stop doing because it was damn distracting. "You're so pushy, I'd have done it already if you weren't so freaking paranoid." 

Clarke tried to shrug him loose, pale pretty face annoyed and bright pretty eyes narrowed, and goddamn she was beautiful, and god _damn_ he noticed that too much. 

With a huff of resignation, Bellamy reached forward and wrapped his arms around Clarke's full waist, pulling her into him and lifting her from the box forcibly, bending his knees so he could set her on the floor. She had yelped and hit him - hard - in the shoulder in protest, but she hadn't been able to even begin to struggle before he'd set her down. Something in Bellamy's stomach dropped all the way down to his toes as - for one of the briefest seconds - his face had brushed against her shoulder, and his mouth, his mouth had brushed the exposed skin of her lower chest, just where it started to curve into the shape of her breast. His heart gave a tug, skipped about fifty beats, and he let go of her the moment he felt able, because if he touched her more then he wouldn't be able to stop, and he would have to come clean, and then he would have to kiss her-

No, no he would not imagine that. Clarke did not like him. Clarke was better than him. Better than them all. She did not deserve to be tainted by his darkness. She was the one that needed to be preserved, out of them all. 

Clarke was glaring at him again, hands on her round hips, mouth pinched in anger. 

"Bellamy Blake, don't you dare-" he brushed passed her and hopped up onto the box, reaching up into the compartment, but his hands brushed nothing, swept empty space. She was still talking, still cursing him. He glanced down at her, only to find that her eyes were definitely  _not_ pointed towards his head. Or shoulders, or even back. Was she... Was she checking out his ass? He wanted to smirk, but he was horrified to feel heat wash into his face, was he-... Was he fucking  _blushing?_ No. No he could not be blushing. 

"Clarke Griffin," he echoed her indignant tone, though his was laced with amusement "Are you checking me out?" 

"Excuse me?" convincing, he mused, if not for the slight squeak at the end there. "Don't flatter yourself, asswipe. If you'd waited three seconds, I'd have told you that Jasper threw it up and knocked it all the way to the back." 

"I'm not tall enough to get it." Bellamy hopped down, crossing his arms over his chest and avoiding looking at her, because he was pretty sure that he could still feel the heat in his cheeks. 

"No shit," she grumbled, turning away and searching around the space for a bigger box "Can't believe it, biggest guy in the whole pace-" she was grumbling under her breath, Bellamy listened in, amused "Is there anyone taller than you?" 

"I don't think so," he scrubbed the back of his head, scowling. Even if there was, he wouldn't tell her. He wasn't letting anyone else come to her rescue and steal all his glory. "Maybe if there's something else that could reach in?" 

"I could go get a stick?" 

"At that angle, a stick will just whack against the top of the compartment." he rolled his eyes, "Do you really need-" 

"Yes." 

"You're sure-" 

"Yes." 

"Can you not-" 

"No." 

He let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a snort, and she glanced over at him with a smirk. He glared back. "Alright fine, Princess." 

Bellamy marched over to her, and for a moment her eyes widened at his determined, heavy steps. But he was glad to see there wasn't fear there; she was no longer uncertain of him, and truly believed him incapable of hurting her now. Good, he would never, even in the beginning, when he'd detested the very sight of her, he would never have resorted to violence, not with this precious human. The very thought made him sick. 

Though her panic did amuse him, and he moved quickly, knowing she would likely stab him if she knew his plan. Slipping behind her quickly, he planted his hands on her shoulders. 

"Spread your legs, Princess." he felt his cheeks heat again, and the warmth spread all through his body, turning his bones to liquid. Bellamy knew his smile was diabolical. 

"What the fuck-" she gasped. 

But Bellamy had already slipped his leg between her knees and nudged her legs apart, and he dipped down quickly, yanked her back and stood up so there was no chance of her slipping away, not without flinging herself off his shoulders, obviously. Clarke yelled out, angry and frightened as one of her hands clamped in his hair to steady herself. He winced.

"Bellamy Blake! You put me down right this instant!" she screeched, giving his head a sharp slap. He laughed and strolled over to the wall, hands on her knees to steady her. Her weight wasn't a problem, but just knowing that it was Clarke almost made his legs turn to jelly. 

"I thought you needed the bandages?" he laughed at her, and indeed, his height, along with her on his shoulders, gave her a perfect view of the inside of the compartment. They didn't even need the box, Clarke gave him another slap, but after a long, annoyed silence she sighed and reached forward, bracing herself against the wall so she could reach in and snag the box, which she tossed onto the floor. 

Bellamy lowered the two of them carefully, until her feet were on the floor and he could dip his head so she could step off him. As soon as he was stood above her again she shoved his chest, using both hands and rocking forward so she half pitched into his torso. He caught her around the waist, laughing at her fury. He knew what he'd done was wrong, knew he would apologise later, but even so, she was so funny. 

"You are so annoying, Bellamy!" she huffed and glanced up at him, her face red and eyes bright with her annoyance.

"You'll enjoy it more the next time I'm between your legs." his smile was slow and sly, and her mouth dropped open at his nerve. He tipped his head back to laugh, delighted with her reaction. 

"Clarke?"

They both looked up simultaneously to find Finn stood at the opening of the dropship. His face was horrified, mouth open. Why would he-

Bellamy looked down at Clarke at the same moment that she looked up at him, and they stared at each other, eyes widening at the same time. Their positions was slightly compromising, Bellamy supposed, though he didn't mind. His arms were wrapped loosely around her waist, hands resting lightly - lazily almost - against the small of her back. She was leaning into him at the hips, almost like she'd fallen against him, her hands were braced against his chest, their faces angled close together. It also helped that both of their faces were flushed. Bellamy saw how it looked, saw that it seemed they'd been caught in an intimate moment, and the fierce satisfaction that washed through his chest was enough to shock him.

"Do you mind, you're interrupting?" Bellamy laughed lightly, jokingly, about to step away to save her reputation. Not that she cared what everyone thought about her, but he cared what everyone thought about Clarke. 

"What the hell, Clarke?" Finn growled, marching forward. "You could have told me!" 

Bellamy expected her to jerk away from him, to explain quickly. But he felt her stiffen in his arms, and when he peered into her face she saw her fury, her indignation at Finn, and he understood. She wasn't his, she wasn't anyone's, and Finn had thought otherwise for far too long. Even then, he didn't expect to feel her settle deeper into his embrace, to feel her hands slip from his chest to his shoulders, settle there as if they'd done it often. He turned his face away to hide his shock - and his smile - but it only served to make it look like he was embarrassed for Finn. 

"Like you told me?" wow, cold, but Bellamy was proud of her, and his arms tightened around her waist "I told you that we weren't together. And this is why." Bellamy let out a little snort, turned his face into her hair because he really needed to hide his smug expression. Bellamy heard Finn leave and felt no sympathy, but he did feel Clarke deflate like she'd been popped in his arms. 

He tightened his grip, offered a solid support as she slacked. He went against his better judgement and pressed his lips against her hair. He knew she felt it when she stiffened, but she didn't move away, so she accepted it without complaint. He smiled into her hair, and gave her another kiss. She didn't even stiffen at that one, and he decided that he liked the feel of her hair against his lips. 

Eventually, Clarke straightened and pulled out of his arms, though she didn't step far away, instead stood staring at him, just out of range of his arms. 

"I'm sorry I used you like that." she blushed hard, and he could see the shame on her face before she turned away. 

"You're ashamed?" he laughed as he caught her arm and wheeled her back "Don't be, that was fun. He deserved it." 

"You didn't." he blinked, confused. She shook her head and smiled softly "You're not a piece of meat, Bell. And while I don't approve of your extravagant sex life, you're entitled to it and it doesn't mean it should be exploited." 

Bellamy stared at her, touched and in awe of her true and blatant goodness. No one saw him this way, allowed him to have his freedom without judgement, or didn't see him as a foothold in order to gain access to higher ground. After a moment he reached out to brush a loose strand of golden hair from her face, brushed it behind her ear as she stared at him, mouth open.

"Well, I certainly didn't mind." he sighed and cast a look at the metal ceiling "And I forgive you, if that makes you feel better." he smiled when she nodded seriously, then moved - a little reluctantly - towards the door. "And if you ever want me to be your pretend lover again, I certainly wouldn't mind that either, Princess." he ducked when she lobbed a bandage at his head, and he heard her laugh echo his as he ducked out of the dropship. 

Bellamy was in a sickeningly happy mood for a despicable amount of time. 

****

Clarke didn't really know how it had happened, or rather, she didn't really understand when she'd started enjoying it. Because ever since that day in the dropship, Finn managed to stay away for the most part, but Bellamy... Well, he'd seemed to constantly be routed to her side. Of course, they'd spent a lot of time together before, being the leaders of the 100 and all, but after that day, Bellamy seemed to... Seek her out. 

It had annoyed her at first, which had only put him in a more cheerful mood. But without his gruff attitude hanging over everyone like a grey cloud, Clarke found herself actually enjoying his company. For one thing, he was actually pretty funny, and the witty banter that passed between the two of them constantly had people rolling their eyes and vacating whatever vicinity they occupied. With Clarke's bad attitude, Bellamy's hands-on approach to life and their general disdain for each other, being around the two was like watching wolves play fight. It was scary sometimes, because they often went quickly from comrades to vicious opponents, and the mood between the two could change in an instant. As a result, whenever they were together, the majority of the delinquent teenagers quickly got out of the firing zone. 

Clarke smirked, amused with her counterpart. She hadn't meant to like Bellamy, but everything she'd thought made him terrible had been proven wrong, or explained from his point of view. She'd never actually heard his whole story, had never known that everything he did he did out of love. Once that had been revealed, she found there was truly no reason to hate him and when there was no reason to hate him, well... She really started to like him. 

"Princess!" Clarke jumped out of her skin, yelping and spilling water from a pot all over her legs. Freezing water, water that made her jump up and hop around and howl from the cold. When the tirade of yelling died down, she became very aware of the loud laughter close by, and turned with a scathing expression towards Bellamy. He stood with his hand on his stomach, head tipped back, snorting through his nose as he belly-laughed at her. 

"Think that's funny, huh?" she smiled at him, the edges jagged, before upended the pot on top of his head, flattening his curly hair to his skull and soaking his dark shirt. Bellamy's laugh cut off abruptly, and the teenagers grabbed whatever they'd been doing and found another place to be, some of them clamping their hands over their mouths to keep the laughter from bursting forth at the sight of Bellamy scrubbing his hair out of his eyes and spitting out water. 

Clarke was doubled over now, hand to her chest, wheezing loudly at the sight of him. He glared at her, dark eyes bloodshot as he attempted to refrain from yelling. Scarlet had washed into his tanned cheeks, lips pursed as he waited for her to shut up. 

"I'm going to get you for that, Clarke." he warned, narrowing his eyes as she wiped tears off her cheeks, she was still chuckling as he turned to stomp away.

"Like you could," she snorted at his back, and skies above that had been the wrong thing to say, the absolute  _worse_ thing because he was turning back to her slowly, eyebrows quirked and mouth open in a smirk that dared her to repeat it. She should have held up her hands, apologised for overreacting, and she knew that he would apologise for scaring her, and things would be fine. But recklessness washed through Clarke, and a thrill that dared her to push him, just to see what he would do. So she put her hands on her round hims and gave him a snide smirk. "You don't scare me, Bellamy Blake. In fact, I think you've become sorta... tame." 

He cocked his head to the side, and Clarke felt a chill race down her spine and a slow smile spread across his lips, and she was in trouble because it was the exact  _opposite_ of a nice smile, it was a smile that said 'I set things on fire for fun', Clarke took a wobbly step back, and he a big stride forward. 

"You _really_ shouldn't have said that, Princess." 

Clarke turned and sprinted, but it was only a few moments before arms snatched her up around the waist, pinning her back against his warm chest. She struggled, feebly, still half-laughing as he manhandled her around and flung her over his wide shoulder. She shrieked, kicking out, but he merely pinned her legs to his torso. She pounded her fists against his back, shouting obscenities at him.

"Bellamy Blake, you put me down  _this instant!"_ she yelled, and he completely ignored her as he strolled out of camp, waving off the teens who crept forward with wide eyes. She turned to threatening him, and though they were equal parts creative and violent, he didn't make one sound as he moved through the forest at a leisurely pace. It was only when she heard the bubbling of the water that Clarke turned to pleading. 

"Bellamy, seriously, I'm sorry, do not for the love of Earth throw me in, Bell honestly, I didn't mean to. I mean, I did mean to, but I won't do it again, unless you annoy me or something, but like, I promise not to do it for at  _least_ like, three days? Bellamy, Bellamy!" he didn't answer, and then she felt him tugging off her shoes, which she supposed was extra considerate, and then she was being swung off his shoulder and up into his arms, and she was still pleading, looking down at the dark, rushing water.  _  
_

He gave her a smirk, kissed her hard on the cheek, and tossed her in. She went all the way under and came up gasping. The water reached all the way up to her chest, and she stood, shivering and shaking, blinking water out of her eyes as she turned a very impressive glare up at him. He was laughing now, so she splashed him, smirking when it coated most of the front of his body.

"I hate you," she spat, and he only laughed harder, dark eyes dancing with his amusement. Clarke went to move forward, to heave herself out of the churning water, then stopped abruptly, hiding a smirk before she gave a small tug on her leg. Her eyes widened, mouth opening in a grimace, she glanced up at him. "My foot's stuck." 

"Bullshit," he accused, still chuckling. "Come on, get out, you'll catch your death in there." 

"Bellamy, I'm seriously." she yanked on her ankle, wincing in pain. "It's stuck, and the angle it's twisted at is-" she hissed again, louder this time. Bellamy wasn't laughing anymore, and crouched on the edge of the river to inspect her. 

"You're lying." 

"Bellamy!" she yelled, annoyed "I'm fucking telling you, my ankle is stuck! If I yank on it, it could break." his lips were still pursed, but then Clarke pulled again and let out a high pitched cry of agony, and suddenly Bellamy was stripping off his shoes and shirt and hopping into the water, splashing Clarke right in the face. 

He was before her in a moment, arms around her waist, panic weaving into the spaces between his freckles, and Clarke almost felt bad. But that was wiped from her mind as he reached a hand down and wrapped it behind her knee, tugging gently. When her leg came up easily - too easily, no resistance at all, he balked. To make sure, he lifted her up by the waist and spun her in the water, back to their side of the river. No cry of pain, no tug that said her foot was caught. His face went from worried and panicked to livid and disbelieving in a moment.

"You-!" he gasped, mouthing opening and closing several times, his hands clenched on her hips, and she did actually feel bad then. "That was cruel, Clarke!" 

"Like throwing me into a freezing cold river?" she demanded, and he shook her hands off to skirt around her, back towards the river bank. Clarke, actually feeling guilty, waded quickly towards him and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back to stop him stomping off in a strop. He was still rigid beneath her hands, so she used the water to pull herself up so she could rest her chin in the crook of his neck. 

"I'm sorry alright? That was mean," she sighed, and he shuddered under her. "Call it even?" 

He twisted abruptly, not allowing her time to move away, so they were stood, or, well, floating, practically nose to nose, for once the same height as he allowed himself to dip down beneath the water so his wide shoulders were submerged. 

"I'm sorry, too." he murmured, and did he usually have this many freckles? She hadn't realised how covered in them he was until he was right up close, and skies above, could eyes really be that pretty? She'd thought they had just been a flat brown, but she saw now there was lighter flecks in there, flecks of gold and green twinkling out at her, willing her to paint them. 

"You kissed me," she didn't know why she said it, or why it had come out so breathy, like she'd exhaled in relief. Her eyelids were fluttering nervously, and she couldn't bring herself to look at him, instead stared down at his chest, which was almost as distracting and when did her hands get there? Pressed against his warm skin like they were having an intimate moment, which couldn't be happening, because this was Bellamy Blake. 

"So I did," he nodded, thoughtfully, and when she glanced up at him he was looking at her lips, and she felt warmth flood into her cheeks as she glanced away, catching her bottom lip in between her teeth, embarrassed. "Don't," his fingers clasped her chin as he frowned at her lips "There's a shortage of perfect lips in the world, it would be a shame to ruin yours." 

"That..." she sighed, deflated against him, could barely feel the cold anymore as warmth spread all through her stomach, sending electricity through every single nerve in her body. "That was an exceptionally good line." she smirked as she glanced up at him, and their noses brushed "Did you write it down first, or...?" 

He pinched her side, smirking when she glared. "Could you not ruin my moment? I wanted to appear charming and witty." 

"Wit implies intelligence, and we all know there's none of that in here," she tapped his forehead, and he gasped like she'd wounded him. Then he gathered her up against his chest, wound one of his hands into her hair, and kissed her deeply. 

The water made their lips slide, and they were shivering against each other, and it was messy and clumsy because Bellamy was smiling widely as their mouths molded together, and she was too eager and kissed him too quickly and too hard, hands in his hair as she yanked him forward. It was probably the most ridiculous kiss either had ever had, and it failed spectacularly, but when they parted, both were grinning stupidly. 

"We should... Um," Clarke pointed to the riverbank, and he nodded, mute, as they turned to wade towards it. 

When they'd heaved themselves out and grabbed their belongings, beginning the trudge back slowly, Bellamy turned a wide smile on her. 

"See? Don't need intelligence to have skill." he chuckled, she pursed her lips at him. 

"Well, we all know it's possible, considering I have both." he gave her a scathing look, and she tipped back her head to laugh. He snagged her hand and held tight to it all he way back, grinning like a spoiled child. 

When they reached the gates, Clarke paused and tugged on his hand to stop him before they could step into view. She swung him around, trying really hard not to stare at his torso as his shirt stuck to every dip and line of his flesh. She looked firmly into his eyes, and mumbled out her next words.

"Would it be okay... I mean, if you want to, could I-" she cleared her throat, shifting from foot to foot "Could I kiss you again? Later, or tomorrow, or you know... whenever, you'd uh, like."

She looked away, crimson washing in to splash her skin from neck to forehead. Bellamy slipped a finger under her chin and tilted her face up to look into her eyes, and he bent to press a small, sweet kiss on her lips, a lot less clumsy than their first had been.

"You can kiss me whenever you'd like, Princess." 


End file.
